


Hot Pursuit

by keerawa



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, PTSD John, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A foot chase goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/)**watsons_woes** JWP Prompt #19: Whump whump whump. Unbeta'd.

They'd chased Chambers from the Eastcote tube station, down crowded pavements, through Roxbourne Park, and across a busy city street. Sherlock motioned to John to continue down the Alexandra after Chambers whilst he dashed down an alleyway to work his way out in front. John pounded down the pavement after their target, past markets, kebab shops, and Indian restaurants.

The scent of burnt meat and spices tugged at his memory just as Chambers darted out into traffic. A Royal Mail van screeched on its brakes and smashed into a parked car.

John hit the ground. IED. Someone must be trapped in the burning vehicle. John tried to belly crawl towards the wounded soldier, but found himself shaking on the ground, useless, heart pounding, unable to move or even breathe.

John scrabbled for his med kit, trying to slow his breathing, face and hands gone numb. No med kit. No rifle. He was ... this was London.

"Sir?" said a young woman in a bright yellow sundress, crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right? Were you in the crash? I've called 999."

John managed to sit up. "M' fine," he gasped out between frantic, gulping breaths. It was a panic attack. He hadn't had one for months, but that was all it was, and it would pass.

The Good Samaritan moved on to the Royal Mail van, and helped the driver to climb out of the passenger side door. He appeared shaken, but didn't seem to be bleeding.

John clambered to his feet, leaning on the parked car. He should check the man for injuries, before the ambulance arrived. And he would. In a minute or two. Once he could breathe properly.

A bloody panic attack. They'd been shot at last week, nearly blown up the week before that, and he'd been fine. He'd no idea what had triggered it, or when it might happen again. Was his PTSD coming back? John's leg was aching, and he wasn't certain if it was lactic acid build-up from the run, an injury from when he hit the ground, or the damned psychosomatic limp.

He'd have to tell Sherlock. Sherlock relied on John to provide back-up on a daily basis, in the field, and it would be completely irresponsible of John to not inform him of the panic attack that had taken him out of the chase.

Sherlock was walking quickly up the street, craning his neck to see the accident over the gawkers. He brightened when he caught sight of John and pushed his way through the crowd.

John imagined Sherlock's reaction when he heard, that razor-sharp intellect coolly analyzing John's damaged psyche. Imagined Sherlock leaving him behind at Baker Street as he pursued criminals across London with no back-up at all.

"Sorry," John said as Sherlock opened his mouth. "Chambers caused a smash-up. Did you get him?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly. "Yes, Lestrade has him in custody, but it's his wife who was responsible for the fires. We need to find her before she flees the country. We should be able to catch a cab over on Village Way."

John nodded. "Lead the way," he said.

Sherlock set off down the pavement, explaining his deductions at a rapid-fire pace. John trotted after him, not allowing himself to favor his sore leg.

The panic attack might've been a one off, after all. There was no point making a fuss over it.


End file.
